


Masks

by A_Winter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Winter/pseuds/A_Winter
Summary: Sherlock spends his days solving puzzles and revealing the truths which people try to hide, what he had not expected was to enter a world where people hide their faces to reveal their truth.In order to get close to Irene Adler, Sherlock has been forced to enter the BDSM world undercover but he did not expect that anything, or anyone, would distract him from his goal.Not until he met 'The Soldier'.(AU - Sherlock and John never met to move in to 221B Baker St)





	1. The Club, The Soldier and Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot... but apparently not. 
> 
> A reminder that Kink is not always inherently sexual, is 100% about trust, respect and consent. If you have any questions about anything I mention or terms used please let me know so I can address them and maybe create a glossary if needed. (I don't know how far into the rabbit hole this will go...)

If there was one thing Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Detective, was familiar with it was the masks people wore and how to break them down piece by piece. Take Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard for example; he was the serious policeman, the fierce interrogator, the gentle shoulder for a victim to cry on, a dutiful husband to a less than dutiful ex-wife and a well-liked boss. DI Lestrade wore many masks and Sherlock enjoyed picking them to pieces if the man became too irritating, which happened often enough. 

Sherlock himself used many such masks to get information in his line of work, though he confessed to having much less emotional attachment to any specific one like other people seemed to. What Sherlock had not expected however, was to don a physical mask to see others drop their metaphoric ones. 

In a ‘club’ of the most intimate and exclusive sort Sherlock stood in his perfectly tailored suit jacket despite the heat, a plain black half mask, styled off the Phantom of the Opera, covering both eyes and half his face, watching a completely different set of games that those he was familiar with. 

On the outside the building was completely non-descript, painted the same uneventful beige as its neighbour with nothing to recommend it but the stark ‘24’ on the outside marking it’s street number. To enter one needed to pass through the side reception, show your membership, change into appropriate attire and mask, stow any unnecessary belongings in the coat room before following the winding corridors to the rooms beyond. The ‘grand foyer’ so to speak was a large open space were majority of the crowd milled and socialised, it was also where one found the bar. The inside of the building was painted a predictable black but each night the decorations would be changed to match some predetermined theme that Sherlock didn’t bother to discover. There were chairs, tables and lounge suites placed sporadically around more interesting furniture. The only ones Sherlock could name for sure where the stocks, cages and the four-poster bed, the rest seemed custom made and for particular purpose. Everything was connected to ropes and chains, cuffs, gags and blindfolds, and rarely were any not in use. Where there wasn’t a table, chair or footstool available one was created using the smooth naked back of an obliging Submissive; where one needed restraints or implements with which to torture some poor sod there was a devious Dominant happy to assist for the benefit of an avid audience. 

Apart from the foyer there were specific rooms, each catering to its own kink, some which Sherlock could understand and others which left him with more questions than answers. Though he’d been asked to leave the medical ‘suite’ on his prior visit for correcting an acting Dominant on the correct use of certain implements much to their Submissive’s confused delight. That was when Sherlock realised that one was supposed to wait to be ‘invited’ before they stepped into ‘play’ or a ‘scene’ even if it was for their own good. 

Sherlock looked around the dimly lit room at the collection of people around him and marvelled at the influx of unprecedented data, for now he stayed in the background collecting his information, but the entire dynamic confused him. Scattered around this rather elite establishment were men and women of London, of whom Sherlock could tell you any number of banal things, and yet not one of them he would have previously connected to this place. Yet they looked more comfortable and relaxed than they had any right to be as they swanned about in lace, lycra, leather and little much else. 

Sherlock kept his expression cool and blank, even as warm nearly naked bodies surrounded him, but within him his mind was reeling as he wondered just what he’d agreed to. 

Truly it was all Mycroft’s fault, Mycroft and his not so mysterious employer who’d called Sherlock to Buckingham Palace and played to Sherlock’s own vanity and need for a challenge. Things had been boring of late, too much time alone had Sherlock at his wits end and originally it had seemed an interesting enough prospect, tracking down The Woman. 

From the photo’s Mycroft had provided of Irene Adler, Sherlock could determine very little, something that both annoyed and fascinated him. The Woman however was proving difficult to track down; her clientele was exclusive and discrete, she would not meet with anyone she did not know and who did not have a substantial reputation she could trust. There were a few ways to get around her strict screening processes, but they would reveal more than Sherlock intended so he needed to make her come to him, the first was to create a reputation for himself within her world. 

This was Sherlock’s third visit to this particular club, he’d heard rumours that it was favoured by Miss Adler but he was yet to see sign of her. He was also yet to understand this world he immersed herself in; it confused Sherlock to see people such. He’d researched his target and her career as thoroughly as he was able, he’d created his own role and persona based on his findings regarding per preferences and though his understood it all within his mind the reality confused him still. So far he had yet to see anything that stirred his mind or his blood in the behaviours or actions of those around him, with the exception, perhaps, of one particularly stunning individual. 

An intriguing figure that Sherlock often found his eyes following against his will, truly there should have been nothing different about him but Sherlock found himself drawn to this man clad not in leather like so many others around him but Military issue camouflage trousers, combat boots, damaged and sadly illegible dog tags, and little else. As far as Sherlock could tell it was all authentic, his posture, the slight tan lines, the raised scars over his shoulder, marring his otherwise flawless skin, all pointed to this man being a recently returned soldier but that was all Sherlock could see. 

The man’s mask was a sight to behold; it covered the entirety of his face, held in place by a hood that covered his hair and looked moulded off the helmet designs of medieval knights. There was a whole for each eye but no others, Sherlock could not see the Man’s eyes, but he shivered at the thought. The mask was designed to be light in colour, off marbled white and gold but to have highlighting cracks of black throughout it, it fit the image of the broken soldier perfectly, and the other patrons mostly let him be with a wide berth, as generally speaking the majority were overly friendly and strangely ‘cuddly’ for what the main stream would consider to be a group of deviants. The other patrons didn’t ignore the soldier, they acknowledged him openly as though he too were part of the furniture and they knew better than to try and drag him into conversation. 

Though when he chose to enter a scene he was never denied, they all seemed intent on trying their hand to tame him. 

It seemed to be a running game within the Club, long enough running that Sherlock wondered if perhaps his soldier knew the Dungeon Masters or had been attending this venue for years. 

Sherlock had once managed a quick glance at the man’s Club tag, sitting temptingly at the man’s hip, he’s seen the colour coding clearly. Though every hint and every line of this man told Sherlock he was strong and not to be taken lightly, despite his short stature, that he was a man used to control and power he was marked as a Code Black S. A no holds barred submissive. 

The tag seemed so contrasting to the man Sherlock saw that perhaps that explained his fascination but somehow, he doubted that was the extent of it.   
That was of course before he’d seen the man strapped to a wooden X and whipped soundlessly for the better part of an hour, then the game began to make sense. They all wanted to bragging rights of being the one to break his silence, though as yet none seemed to have succeeded and Sherlock learnt a lot from his silent observations of the Soldier. 

It seemed the Soldier’s kink was impact, as the regulars of the club had commented to some new patrons as Sherlock had listened in. That once retrained a Dom would have their turn to make him call out for an hour, never more. Sherlock wasn’t sure what their prize would be, aside from their own pride, should they succeed but nor had he seen anyone try anything other than impact on the soldier. 

How dull, considering the venue within which they found themselves. 

It was then that Sherlock realised just how he’d get The Woman’s attention. 

X~X~X

It was three days later Sherlock approached the Soldier, the first time he’d done so, and for the moment of silence allowed between them Sherlock kept his deductions completely internal. 

Soldier, invalided out, shoulder wound, gun shot, Iraq? No Afghanistan. Home longer than first thought, still not acclimatised to civilian life, dresses like a soldier even in civilian clothes, hence continued tan though fading. Not gay but done too much to consider himself straight anymore, some variant of bi or demi sexual. Older than first thought, mid to late thirties, cropped hair just showing through the base of the mask light in colour blond seems most likely, still remarkably toned despite time returned, injury and age. Spends a lot of time working out, not a lot of time sleeping or eating more than basic rations still, PTSD most likely, rank uncertain but used to being issued commands so likely not high ranking. Likely feels directionless as a civilian, hence the club. Not a sexual connection to the club then but a mental, emotional one, control. 

Interesting. 

Sherlock allowed his assessing gaze to openly roam the soldier, he stood silent and unmoved. Posture perfect, broad shoulders straight enough that sherlock could probably balance a level on them… something he may have to try at some point. 

Despite the half a head height difference the man had an aura about him that made him seem taller, fierce, like a wild beast barely contained. A part of Sherlock itched at the challenge the man presented but he was also confident enough in his own skill with a crop and the researching into the ‘scene’ he’d done that he wouldn’t make the mistakes others had before him. Without comment Sherlock turned, missing the flourish of his coat around him, and walked to the Grand Foyer and the restraints there. It did not surprise him that the soldier followed him, nor that others in the room had become aware that a scene was beginning with the coveted mute. 

Sherlock pointed at a length of wall which had been replaced with a segment of chain-link fence and waited for the soldier to position himself in front of it, facing Sherlock. A simple turning gesture of the detective’s slim finger had the soldier facing the fence as Sherlock reached up to restrain his wrists, using his height to its full advantage against the shorter man so that his body was stretched taught. 

Still without saying a word Sherlock retrieved his riding crop from where he’d previously left it in anticipation of this moment. Allowing it to drift slowly up the man’s tanned and relatively unmarked back, tarnished by the scar of his wound but surprisingly not the beatings he’d received earlier through the week, and settle on his exposed neck before leaning in to whisper in the soldier’s exposed ear. 

“Tonight, I shall give you what you’ve been truly after.” 

Pulling away Sherlock sized up the expanse of flesh before him, he hadn’t expected a response and he hadn’t received him. The hour had started the moment he restrained the soldier, but Sherlock did not expect to need that long, not with his experience at Barts. One of the pluses of his profession and his continued interests in human anatomy, he knew where to hit to maximise pain and where to avoid true damage. 

With a gentle flick of his wrist Sherlock began across the broad of the man’s back. Sherlock had seen many other avoid the man’s scar, for whatever their reasons be it respect, fear or disgust Sherlock cared naught, but he did not. The tissue would be more sensitive than the rest of his back combined so Sherlock included it in his warm up of the man’s back. A simple cropping to stimulate the blood flow, he had to show skill as a Dominant if he hoped to entice Adler out of hiding. 

Once the Soldier’s back was glowing a pleasing blush through the tan Sherlock kicked things up a notch with firm strike directly under the man’s straining shoulder blades. The strike was clearly unexcepted, this Sherlock could tell from the muscular reaction the blow triggered, but if not for that subtle sign and the loud smack of the crop he’d have though he missed. 

Interesting.

Sherlock smirked down as his prey and began in earnest, his crop creating a distinct pattern on the man’s flesh thanks to the detective’s unfailing aim. A few of the regulars called out advise from the sidelines but none interfered with the sport, even as bruises blossomed and thin stripe cuts began to litter his flesh from the force of Sherlock’s assault. 

It wasn’t until one of the Dungeon Masters, a surprisingly supple female with a keen eye for crops and whips herself, touched Sherlock’s crop arm that he realised his hour had passed and despite the other plans he’d held he too had wasted his time on simple, though forceful, impact play. Sherlock received a polite applauding and commiseration from the audience as he untied the Soldier who looked like he’d be fine with continuing. 

Though this was one of the Club’s rules, all tight restraints were limited to no more than an hour’s play at any one time for risk of circulation damage. Loose restraints and hour and a half. It was there along the no penetration rule, the hard-limit cards and two drinks per patron cap. Any rule breaking put an end to the offender’s night and depending on the offence their membership, something Sherlock couldn’t risk so it was with regret he freed the soldier and began to catalogue other ways he might gain Adler’s attention. 

Though he’d already dismissed the soldier from his mind Sherlock had no expected himself to not be so readily forgotten as the man stepped away from the fencing and towards the detective. Leaning in close to Sherlock as he passed by the thoughtful man the soldier paused just a moment by the detective’s ear and in a surprisingly dark voice whispered a single word which made Sherlock burn within before he moved on to leave the club as was his usual practice following a scene. 

“Amateur” 

Sherlock’s eyes burned as the followed the man’s retreating, though thoroughly abused back, until he was completely out of sight. 

This was not over; the game was now most certainly afoot. 

X~X~X

Overnight Sherlock became a regular to the Club, the Soldier did not always attend every night, but Sherlock didn’t want to miss an opportunity, besides his other daylight cases were inexplicably dull. At least this would provide some sport to his day and a challenge for his eager mind. Not to mention it would keep Mycroft off his case about dividing his attentions if he could see Sherlock putting in some effort, after all Holmes the younger had no doubt that without his usual video feeds his brother would have his own spies within the confines of the Club.


	2. Raising to a challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a quick study...

A few days later Sherlock arrived early at the club; he was immaculately dressed as usual in a fitted suit, sporting his same black eye mask and riding crop, surprisingly he seemed less noticeable with it than without. The detective in him watched the patrons around him, it was surprising how little of the Play in this place was sexual in nature and how much seemed rooted in a need for connection and trust. The more Sherlock observed of these people the more he began to understand, it also didn’t help that this was perhaps one of the few places his deductions weren’t necessarily dismissed and he’d yet to hear the word ‘freak’ thrown his way. 

With drink in hand Sherlock watched a few of the early scenes, making comment only when he could see a submissive nearing their limits or perhaps needing an adjustment in play. The other Dominants, as long as he didn’t physically interfere again, had begun to appreciate his input and mostly listened to his advice. If only the rest of his associates would be so easily trained, he’d have a much easier run with Lestrade and his underlings. 

The detective knew the moment the Soldier arrived, a ripple seemed to go through the club and many of the patrons began to look between the door and Sherlock, where he stood watching some of the electro-play in the Grand Foyer. The Soldier walked past Sherlock without pause and moved directly to the Dojo where a wrestling match had started up between a few of the regulars while they waited for more patrons to arrive. The Soldier, dressed again in his regulation kit only from the hips down, had chosen this time to wear only a half mask. The style was the same with a medieval feel, fabric that hooded his head and under his ears so that only his mouth and the barest hint of his nose was visible. It was a slight change but judging by the surprised look of the regulars it was something that had not happened before. Sherlock was certainly arrogant enough to take credit for the difference, well he would have been if his mind hadn’t been stuck on the stubborn jaw and perfectly sculpted lips that has been revealed to him. 

Sherlock didn’t outwardly show a response to the not so Silent Soldier’s arrival though he did cast an appreciative look to his own handwork on the man’s back as he passed. Sherlock had noted on previous occasions that the man didn’t bruise easily, he must have someone at home to treat his wounds because each time he returned to the club he’d been expertly tended, and tonight was no different in that regard. What was different however was the stark ‘H’ bruised into the man’s tanned flesh, a reminder of Sherlock’s crop, and the change in his attire. Despite how ‘Amateur’ he may believe the Detective to be, he was also the first to leave a lasting imprint on the man that Sherlock had seen during his time attending the club. Though most Dominants apparently refrained from doing so to anyone but their regular submissives or significant others without prior approval. 

Sherlock remained where he was, finished his drink while watching the electro scene before offering the Dungeon Mistress supervising the room a nod and moving towards the Dojo. On the way Sherlock acquired a new drink and particularly flirty submissive female, he deduced instantly that she was trying to make her regular Dominant jealous and as Sherlock had to create his own reputation he decided to humour the wench. Sherlock entered the Dojo and took seat in one of the large winged armchairs, the scantily clad girl with a pair of fluffy ears on her head took the appropriate place at his feet as they watched the match currently unfolding. It was the Soldier, of course it was, wrestling with one of the larger Dominants and his regular male submissive. 

The Dominant was trying to restrain the Soldier from behind in an arm lock while his submissive straddled the soldier and was basically trying to distract him in any way he could. Teeth, claw like nails, flashes of skin, a well-placed grope, everything was fair play in this game. Sherlock watched with a slight twitch of his lips, and the female rubbing against his leg while purring, as the Soldier expertly twisted his hips and threw the submissive off him and used the momentum to break the Dominant’s hold on his arms, grab the man around the middle, lift him, drop him and pin him. All a testament to the Soldier’s flexibility and strength as the Dominant was almost twice his size and the Submissive not much smaller. The Submissive attempted to remove the Soldier from his Dom but merely ended up on top of his partner, both uselessly pinned under the Soldier until the Dungeon Mistress called the match over. 

Sherlock continued to watch as more contestants tried their hand against the Soldier, each playing dirtier than the last all hoping the man would tire by the time it was their turn but clearly, he had stamina as well as strength on his side. Something Sherlock would need to keep in mind. The woman at Sherlock’s feet had eventually crawled her way to a more responsive Dominant and fallen asleep in the other female’s lap as her ‘fur’ was stroked fondly. The new Dominant was not her usual partner, but they were well acquainted and seemed to be less of a threat to her usual partner than a stranger. Sherlock didn’t much care, but he also didn’t desire to participate in a brawl over anyone tonight if he could help it. 

After the eighth match the Dungeon Mistress called an end as the ropes demonstration was ready to begin; the Soldier got to his feet, an attractive sheen of sweat covering his exposed flesh and his eyes locked with Sherlock’s. The detective couldn’t really be sure due to the dim lighting and the mask but if asked he’d say the man’s eyes were blue. A moment passed between them and Sherlock lifted a challenging brow before rising languidly to his own feet and leaving the room. This time Sherlock avoided the main rooms and followed the labyrinth of hallways to one of the lesser rooms, still public but less crowded. In this room, which Sherlock had reserved earlier, was a free-standing iron restrain. At each side of the room was a chain which ran from floor to ceiling where in passed through a ring before meeting in the middle of the room at a stock like hand and neck restrain, which he’d already adjusted for the Soldier’s height. 

A few people lounged about the room, waiting for the show to begin, and Sherlock didn’t need to look to know the Soldier had followed him, the appreciative looks on the faces of those in the room told him enough. 

Despite being a standing restraint Club rules dictated he could keep the Soldier longer in this room as long as his joints weren’t put under excessive pressure and there was limited risk of circulation problems. 

Without being told the Soldier walked to the restraints and waited, standing patiently at ease. Sherlock smirked as he walked to the neck cuff and locked it around the man’s throat, allowing his fingers to brush the man’s skin as he locked the restraints in place. Sherlock noted that the man ran off an excessive amount of heat, though his breathing was perfectly measured and his muscles relaxed. With a quirk of his lips Sherlock ran his hand down one of the iron poles to the hand restrain and locked the soldier’s waiting wrist into it before repeating the exercise on the other side. 

Just as he had the night before Sherlock leant in close to the Soldier, to where his ear was covered by the fabric hood keeping his mask in place, and in a voice full of promise whispered… 

“You are going to regret challenging me, I am a quick study.” 

Not waiting for a response Sherlock placed a blindfold over the eyes of the man’s mask and stepped away, a hush went through the room as Sherlock made it clear to the audience he wanted silence, and waited. 

Silently the consulting detective made his way to the waiting table in the corner and began to set out the implements he’d brought with him. There was not a sound in the room at first, but then in the silence other noises became loud. The steady tick of someone’s watch, the hushed breaths of those in the room, the gentle clinking of the chains which held the soldier in place, though they were not exactly needed as he still stood perfectly tall and at ease. 

Five minutes passed silently, though for the soldier they would have seemed much longer due to the sensory deprivation, as Sherlock admired his new toys he bought on Mycroft’s company card. If one is to be accepted one must have the proper tools he’d justify when his brother inevitably kicked up a fuss at the excessive shopping spree. Though it wasn’t as it he couldn’t afford it, assuming he didn’t want to explain the charges to his employer. New toys or not Sherlock picked up his crop to begin, he’d been pleased with the marks he’d left and didn’t want them to fade. 

The silence of the room was finally broken by the whistle of air, the sharp smack of leather on flesh and an involuntary intake of air. 

Better. 

Three minutes Sherlock spent, no more, refreshing his mark before he moved on, he grazed the crop over the man’s heated flesh and considered the script he’d planned earlier within his mind. It was pleasing to see the man’s nipples were standing pert and erect, but whether that was due to the chill of the evening, heightened by his previous exertions and the sweat slowly drying on his skin, anticipation for what was to come or Sherlock’s earlier efforts with the crop. Despite his exception deductive skills, Sherlock couldn’t say which he found both frustrating and intriguing. 

The detective placed the crop down and picked up the next item on his script, a feather quill which had been specially chosen for the task ahead. On silent feet he approached the soldier but did not immediately touch him, Sherlock could see in the tensing of the man’s muscles that he knew Sherlock was near but thanks to the blindfold he knew nothing more than that. Circling the man while holding the quill Sherlock began to run the sharp calligraphy nib of the pen along the man’s flesh with the lightest of touches, enjoying the way his muscles leapt in surprise at the gentle, yet unknown, touch Sherlock smirked. Turning the quill around Sherlock ran the feather across his skin next, over the sensitive ‘H’ on his back, up one of his sides, across the bridge and down the other, over his nipples and stomach, just the lightest of touches which left his muscles quaking in a way that was beyond his control. It was a physical response which he wasn’t anticipating and couldn’t truly be controlled even if one wanted to. 

Before the soldier could get used to the sensation Sherlock stopped. Impact and pain where clearly something the soldier was accustomed to, gentleness not so much but that was still unlikely to make the man break his silence. 

Sherlock returned to the table and lifted a simple cup, not something he’d bought on Mycroft’s card but provided by the club. Possibly the most inexpensive tool at his disposal but if he was correct it was likely to be one of the most effective. Long fingers dipped into the cup and pulled out a plain, crystalline cube of ice and with approving smiles from his audience Sherlock stepped behind the Soldier and ran the ice down his perfectly straight spine from neck to belt. The effect was instantaneous and distinctly satisfying. 

In response to the sudden chill of the ice the Soldier’s back arched away from Sherlock and suddenly he was straining against the limits of the chains keeping him put. The detective couldn’t help but chuckle as he circled the Soldier, who’s chest heaved as he tried to school his breathing. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Sherlock scolded, a cunning smile directed to his avid audience. “We can’t have you losing ground after we’ve made such delicious progress…” 

Without pause Sherlock took a second piece of ice and with a piece in each hand began to circle the man’s nipples. The response wasn’t as extreme, not now that he knew it was coming, but Sherlock enjoyed the way his mind fought to keep his body still as the muscles strained against the assault of cold. Sherlock painted the Soldier’s chest and back with water as his burning skin melted the ice, blowing gently along the paths of his nipples to send another thrum of sensation through the body beside him. With a quick flick of his nimble fingers Sherlock undid the Soldier’s belt and the button of his trousers, he wasn’t surprised that the Soldier was hard though he was impressed by the man’s size… the limited amount he could see through trousers and very sensible pair of grey boxer briefs. 

Sherlock didn’t intend to touch him, not there at least but he knew the Soldier’s attention would now be on his groin as would his imagination and not on Sherlock who moved back to the table and his brand-new flogger. It was an attractive piece of workmanship with a solid wooden handle covered it braided leather. The tails, because there were 6 of them, were the length of Sherlock’s arm, shoulder to wrist, and each consisted of three pieces of quality leather plaited together. While it didn’t provide the accuracy of Sherlock’s preferred crop it did allow for a larger impact area. 

Aware his time with the soldier was running short Sherlock took the tails in hand, lined himself up and with a full arm swing released the flogger. 

“ah…” 

It was the smallest of sounds, almost covered by the crack of the leather but it was unmistakeable to Sherlock, that small breathy gasp filled Sherlock with a sense of euphoria that shook him. Their audience hadn’t heard it but the soldier was aware of his defeat, Sherlock could see it in the tense line of his jaw beneath the mask and the subtle quake in his shoulder. Though his mind was frozen on that moment Sherlock’s arm continued to move, flogging the soldier trying to drag out another blissful sound. The feeling within Sherlock was intense, like the moment he solved a case or that first hit of nicotine or cocaine after so long on withdrawal. It was consuming and addictive, it didn’t take a genius like Sherlock Holmes to see the new gleam in his eye or guess at the obsession forming. 

A polite tap of the door signalled that their time was at an end and Sherlock released a disappointed sigh, as did much of the audience, but the soldier simply stood there in stony silence trying to control his breathing which was notably heavier. The detective moved close to the soldier and leant in, the soft fabric of his shirt just ghosting the abused flesh of the other man’s back, as he began to undo the restraints. 

“At ease Soldier, you did well.” Sherlock whispered in the man’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear. Sherlock wasn’t sure what made him say such a thing but he was glad he had when he saw the man’s body visibly relax in a way Sherlock had not anticipated. The detective had heard of the phenomenon of a ‘sub-drop’ from the other Dominants at the club, seen it with the more affectionate submissives but somehow he hadn’t expected to achieve something similar with the soldier, though this was a much more subtle equivalent and seemed to surprise the man as much as Sherlock. 

The restraints were removed, as was the blindfold, and Sherlock expected the Soldier to leave immediately as he had done the night before. Especially considering his break of silence, and the apparent drop, the detective expected him to want to save face by doing so. 

What he hadn’t expected was the lopsided yet predatory grin, which revealed just a hint of straight white teeth, levelled his way before he was wrenched forward by a fist buried in the fabric of his shirt. Sherlock expected a handful of things might happen in that moment, that he might be threatened, hit, thrown, etcetera… what had not made the list however was that he might be kissed. 

It was not a pretty kiss, by most standards it wasn’t even a pleasant kiss, but it was a kiss, in fact it was one hell of a kiss. The soldier had met Sherlock part way, pulling the taller man down by his shirt, his lips crashing into Sherlock’s slightly parted ones. Before the detective had been able to register what was happening the man’s tongue was in his mouth and he was on the receiving end of a very thorough snogging. 

The man pulled away before Sherlock could do more than process the fact that he was being kissed, gave another lopsided grin, winked his definitely blue eye and strutted out of the room looking thoroughly satisfied. 

Sherlock just stood there, stunned, until the sniggering of his audience brought him back to reality. 

“I take it no one warned you about Joe?” One woman asked, her male companion casually fondling her breast through the leather harness she was wearing, she didn’t wait for Sherlock to respond. “He usually subs at the club but he’s actually a switch, he’s got a real mean streak when the mood grabs him…” 

A few of the others nodded and began swapping stories about things they’d seen or heard of ‘Joe’ doing. Sherlock smiled, this man was becoming more of a puzzle by the moment and Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed puzzles.


	3. Captain, My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse...

Apparently, the kiss had given Sherlock a reputation and boost in status at the club, if the sudden interest in him was anything to go by. Now when Sherlock arrived at the Club, recognised instantly despite his mask, Dominants would come to him to discuss technique and submissives would flirt their scantily clad backsides off. Many had stories to tell him about “G.I. Joe”, as the patrons of the club had dubbed the soundless soldier, but Sherlock didn’t pay a lot of attention. The detective was much more interesting in learning about the man first hand than through the stories of others… and learn Sherlock did. 

Whether due to his persona of a ‘switch’ or his natural disposition, Sherlock’s soldier was not like the other submissives the detective had interacted with at the club. He was not eager to please, flirty and gentle. Other Dominants referred to it as “Bratty” behaviour, submissives who were petulant and challenging to their Doms in order to illicit certain responses and usually punishments… but somehow that didn’t seem to fit ‘Joe’ either. 

Sherlock continued to attend the club regularly, participating only intellectually with the others and their scenes but his Soldier didn’t return until the following week. It wasn’t an unusual break for the man, but Sherlock still found himself disturbingly aware of the Joe’s absence and concerned about his safety. However when the Soldier did return it was as though Sherlock was looking at a completely different man, and that wasn’t simply due to his changed attire. 

From the hips down the man was dressed the same, however he was no longer topless and had again changed his mask. Now the soldier worse a grey singlet and the camouflage jacket which matched his trousers with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mask tonight was a sculpted silver half mask, much like the ones worn by most of the men here. It still maintained a medieval and tarnished look as his previous ones had but this one revealed much more of his face. Now Sherlock could openly appreciate not only the man’s lips and jaw but also the side swept ash blonde hair that had previously been hidden beneath the hoods of his masks. 

Sherlock felt something stir within him, he’d always appreciated the aesthetic of his soldier but this was like a new person entirely. The way the man held himself, previously rigid and controlled was now languid and predatory. Like a feline, fully aware of its power but in no rush to use it. When the soldier’s eyes locked with Sherlocks there was a kind of smouldering heat there and an undeniable challenge. Clearly this was the other side of the soldier that Sherlock had been warned about following their last scene. There was nothing submissive about the man tonight, he’d even switched out his usual club tag for one announcing him as a dominant. Sherlock felt his skin prickle with anticipation to see what the man would do. The detective himself had never had thoughts of being a submissive, despite labelling himself as a switch in an attempt to get closer to Adler, but compared to this new side of his soldier, Sherlock couldn’t seem to imagine himself as anything else. The realisation stunning him as much as the growing heat he felt as the Soldier prowled closer, dropped the duffle bag Sherlock hadn’t really noticed he had slung over his back and eventually threw himself onto the lounge beside Sherlock.

The action should have appeared graceless and clunky but somehow it worked well with this new persona, arms stretched out over the back of the sofa with one coincidentally just behind Sherlock’s head the man relaxed and said nothing as his eyes openly evaluated the room. With one leg, the one closest to Sherlock, stretched out to the coffee table in front of him and the other bent at the knee with the heal of his thick boot on the plush leather beneath him, the soldier exuded masculine strength and drew the eye of many an eager and unattached patron. Though they couldn’t be blamed, the man was a sight to behold and his very presence sent heat through those around him. Sherlock did his best to appear unaffected, and though outwardly he succeeded he was concerned with the physical reactions he was unable to control. His temperature had risen, as well as his heart beat and the slightest hitch of his breathing when the other man can come so close to him. This was not something Sherlock was familiar with, though he’d seen it enough from others while at the club. He desired this man, physically. An idea he’d suspected while he’d dominated the other, but it was surprising to find his desire as strong, if not stronger, considering the man’s change in behaviour. 

Sherlock was not surprised, however, when a woman approached his soldier. It wasn’t hard to deduce the woman was a rope bunny, she was wearing nothing aside from a Shibari rope harness after all. Long auburn hair was tied in a high ponytail and her mask was a red lace that matched the red rope, without pause she climbed into the soldier’s lap and straddled his raised leg. There wasn’t much space between them so her body was pressed tightly against his with her breasts scraping against his singlet with every ragged breath she took. 

With her mouth against his ear and her arms around his neck the bunny spoke in a low husky voice to the soldier, though even as he grabbed her pert arse his eyes trailed to Sherlock and a smirk lifted those sinful lips. 

“It’s been so long since your last visit, Captain.” She purred, making Sherlock realise that those at the club treated the soldier’s personas as two separate entities as. “I missed you so very much” she continues wiggling her hips against the man’s thigh and Sherlock cringed at the desperation in her voice. “Have you picked your partner for tonight yet?” 

The soldier leaned in and brushed his lips to her ear, eyes stilled locked on Sherlock’s, and whispered something the Detective couldn’t make out but he watched the shiver run down the woman’s spine as she practically melted in his arms. He lifted one hand, the one closer to the detective, and threaded into her hair under the hair-tie right at the base of her skull. Sherlock watched the woman lean into the touch like a cat until the ‘Captain’s’ fingers suddenly clenched and pulled her head down and back exposing her neck to him. The female didn’t struggle, merely mewled in submission to his strength as he placed his lips over her thrumming pulse and bit down. The woman sucked in a loud breath and went still before her body started to shake with obvious desire, at that point the soldier practically threw her to the ground as he got to his feet. Her eyes when she looked up at him were glazed with lust. 

With careless grace the soldier grabbed his bag and started towards one of the play areas, Sherlock was tempted to follow but the surprise of that desire kept him in his seat even as the bunny scrambled to her flimsy heals to rush after him. In the end Sherlock hadn’t needed to move, the soldier chose a play area in the upstairs of the grand foyer in clear view of Sherlock’s position on the lounge where he still sat with a forgotten drink in his hand. 

Others began to join Sherlock, all eager to see what “The Captain” would do tonight. Many of them looking expectantly at Sherlock before gluing their eyes to where the bunny was laying on what appeared to be a massage table with the soldier on the other side so that their audience had a full view of her exposed back and his actions. A table was brought to his side by a helpful dungeon master with a wink as the “Captain” began to pull thinks reverently from his duffle bag.

He placed a few things on the table before stowing the bag under in and out of the way, from this distance Sherlock couldn’t see what had been removed but the rest of the audience held their breaths in anticipation as Joe took some rope and began to expertly tie the bunny to the table and the table to some intentionally placed rings. Now even if she tried to throw her body from the table, neither she nor it would move. Apparently, that was exactly what the audience anticipated she would do, if the knowing chuckles were anything to go by. 

The soldier leaned in to the woman and whispered something in her ear, apparently this persona was much more talkative, which caused her to shiver again before nodding and the man smiled evilly beneath his mask before the dungeon master returned with a cup, not unlike the one Sherlock had used on the man previously. True to his expectations, this cup too was filled with ice which the soldier put on his table before picking up a simple blindfold and taking away the woman’s sight. With gentle hands the soldier began to rub the woman’s back, his progress only slightly impeded by the rope which constituted her clothing for the evening. The Captain massaged her neck, back, buttocks, legs and feet with skill and concentration until she was a puddle beneath him. Only then did he pull out a cube of the ice and the scene truly began. The Captain traced the ropes with the ice, then her major veins and muscles, chilling her skin and making her squirm with the sensation. He hadn’t gaged her, so they were all privy to her gasps, mewls and breathy pleas.

Sherlock was still unimpressed however, ice play wasn’t something to get so excited about after all, at least he was until he saw the handheld blowtorch and the candles the dungeon master handed him next. 

“The DM is there to supervise, Lucy hasn’t done wax before, he’ll make sure Joe only uses the gentle candles at first. Joe can be a bit brutal with the wax otherwise.” Whispered one of the submissives nearby to another, both shivered with anticipation and want, despite their cautionary tones. 

The first candle was lit, a beautiful crimson red, and a hush fell over the audience as it dripped onto her skin. Her response was exquisite, ‘Lucy’ arched her back as much as she could given the restraints which held her in place, her mouth opened in a silent gasp even as the next drop fell. Sherlock watched in avid fascination as the Captain painted this woman’s back in crimson wax while she moaned and squirmed beneath him. Slowly he changed candles, slowly increasing the heat while changing angles, distances and patterns, all under the supervision of the DM… though Sherlock realised quickly that it was less about supervision and more about control. It seemed ‘Lucy’ was a pet of that particular Master, who was only okay with her playing as long as he was supervising. Upon realising that the sickly feeling in Sherlock’s chest vanished and he found himself able to enjoy the performance more openly. 

‘Lucy’ played her part well, calling orange on her fourth candle causing the soldier to immediately extinguish the candle in his hand and whisper in her ear. He seemed to listen to her voice a moment before nodded with a gentle smile. He put the candles away, allowing the wax to dry on her skin and running his fingers over the patterns he’d created. 

“She did well for her first time,” commented one Dom to another, “though I was hoping to see him juggling four candles again…” The other Dom nodded and suddenly the image of the soldier using four candles simultaneously jumped into Sherlock’s mind and he felt his pulse increase again. 

Once his candles were properly stowed the Soldier took out a rather vicious looking blade and handed it to the DM. 

“Ooooh, he’s using the knives today. Damn she’s lucky” Exclaimed a submissive, curling up eagerly on her Dom’s lap. 

Sherlock’s confusion lasted only a moment until he saw the Master nod and hand back the knife, which the Captain proceeded to use to slice the wax expertly from the submissive’s skin much to her apparent delight. Her gasps and moans only increased as he removed the wax and drew abstract patterns on her skin with the tip of the blade, never breaking the skin but the risk was always there which seemed to increase the woman’s excitement. Once the wax was removed the man took a small hand towel and wiped her back down as much as he could with the rope still in place before he began to untie her, taking time to massage each of her limbs as they were released to ensure correct blood flow. ‘Lucy’ stayed perfectly still during this, she seemed to have no strength in her and Sherlock realised he was seeing a true Sub-Drop as the woman was sat up and her blindfold removed. Immediately the solider pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, regulating his breathing and forcing her to follow. 

The heavy feeling settled again in Sherlock’s own chest as he watched the woman, practically boneless, melt into the ‘Captain’s’ arms. At that moment he could have done anything to the complacent bunny, and she would have gladly allowed it. 

Around Sherlock the audience had begun to disperse, the scene was over and now it was simply aftercare. Though important, not as interesting for the spectators… except for Sherlock. The detective watched the soldier whisper to the woman, hold her gently and give her time to pull herself somewhat together before he lifted her into his arms bridal style and handed her over to her waiting master. The Dungeon Master shared a smile with the Captain before taking his dropped sub away while Joe cleaned up the area so others could play later. He was methodical; sweeping away the wax, wiping down the table, sanitising his blade with both wipes and flame, it was only when he was satisfied with his clean up that he again threw his bag over his shoulder and for the first time in over an hour made eye contact with Sherlock, who hadn’t moved and was still holding that useless drink. 

The predatory challenge in those eyes could not be mistaken, they were daring Sherlock to join the Captain upstairs and be the next to feel his talented hands and the heat of his candles. Sherlock rose to his feet and placed his drink on the coffee table and did the only thing he could think of. With a flourish of his coat he turned and strode, just short of ran, out of the club… a husky, deep laughter following him which only caused him to blush and move faster.


End file.
